Casey vs The Second One Night Stand
by verkisto
Summary: Here he was, back again and in my arms. But for how long this time? Sequel to Casey vs The One Night Stand. Please heed the rating. Casey/OFC-Darlene
1. The Singing Rage

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

_**This story is a sequel to Casey vs The One Night Stand (which you may have already figured out from the snappy title!).**_

* * *

Chapter 1: The Singing Rage

Did I still think about him? Yes, from time to time. If by "from time to time" you mean every waking minute of every day and even sometimes in my dreams. Literally anything could cause him to pop into my head, especially when it was raining in the late evening or I poured somebody a Jack Daniels in the bar, ate a fresh sandwich, smelled cigar smoke, watched a man pull a gun in a television crime drama.

Lay in my bed and stared at the ceiling in the dark.

There had been a few other men over the past eight months, just casual encounters that never went beyond the first round of sex, but when I look back on them now I can see bits and pieces in each of them that reminded me of him – a strong jawline, a slight curl to the hair, tall or broad-chested or both. None of them were out-and-out doubles, but after a while it became so obvious to me what I was doing that I stopped having sex altogether rather than be self-conscious about the men I was drawn to.

Is it possible to re-virginize? Probably not, but I was starting to feel like I was getting closer every day. And the sad part about it is that I was beginning not to care.

I know I had told myself that I wasn't going to pine after him when he left. He had treated me honorably as far as telling me the truth of his wish for a brief relationship and I had entered into it on those terms. But the crux of the problem was, as much as the intellect is capable of working through these things in an objective manner, the heart is not, and my heart, against all common sense, logic and prudence, wanted John Casey.

I know my body sure did.

I was getting into a routine of coming home after working at the bar, showering to get the smell of booze and fried foods out of my skin, and popping under the covers naked. Then I'd begin my own form of meditation and visualization. I'd pick something about John that I remembered and picture it vividly. Maybe it would be the smile of pure enjoyment around his mouth and in his eyes as he clamped his cigar between his teeth. Or the faraway look he got as he screwed up his facial muscles and concentrated on coming. I particularly liked the one where he grinned and quirked his eyebrows, giving his face a devilish cast as he watched my face and searched with his fingers inside me for just the right spot and rhythm to make me lose control.

First, I'd fix the memory for that night's sex substitute session in my mind. Then, I'd actively begin to relax my body, making sure my shoulders weren't bunched up around my neck and that my leg muscles were loose. Next, I'd reach out in the dark and pull open the drawer of my beside table, groping around for my John-sized dildo with my left hand while I began to stroke my vulvae and clitoris lightly with the fingers of my right hand.

The images of John in my mind had been so carefully tended that they were as clear as if I was seeing them for the first time, and they never let me down. I had some lubricant handy in case it was needed but so far I had never even opened the tube, because by the time I had the dildo in my hand and had pulled my knees up and apart, I was always practically wetting myself with John-induced natural lubrication. The brain sure is a powerful sex organ.

Anyway, it always went kind of the same way each time. I'd wet the end of the dildo in those first juices and insert it just a bit so it would push out against the sides of my opening. Then I would reinforce the mental picture I had chosen for the night's festivities. Slowly sliding the device in, I would imagine John interrupting whatever it was he was doing in my imagination, and his head would come nearer to mine for a kiss.

As his mouth approached, his eyes would hood and become bottomless, his lips would slacken. He would draw a sharp breath in through his nostrils and maybe moan a bit in anticipation, and all the while I would be gradually, bit by bit, pushing the dildo in until it was completely inside of me. Then I would stop the motion and take the time to picture his kiss, his lips brushing mine, then making firm contact as he added some pressure with his head. He would open his mouth and the end of his tongue would dart out to wet my upper lip, causing me to drop my jaw open slightly. He would then extend his tongue into the opening, a bit past my teeth, to meet my tongue as he pressed his lips even harder to mine, then tighten and relax the muscles around his mouth in a sort of massaging motion until I relaxed completely into it, and – eureka! First prize.

Some nights, that was all it took, and I would thrash my legs around in a spasm of ecstasy, eyes shut tight, pretending it was John inside of me instead of a hunk of lifeless plastic.

Other times, depending on whatever point in my cycle my hormones were at, I had to work a little harder and wait a little longer for the fun part, but I didn't mind. That meant that, as I was rubbing and teasing my clitoris, I could imagine that it was John's tongue on me, and I would lick my own lips as I pictured the top of his head between my thighs while he licked me out. Based on my memories, I could even vary his facial expression as he looked up, his lips and mouth wet with my desire. Sometimes, he would look mischievous, as though he was plotting a new line of attack on my sensitive nerves before diving back in. Sometimes, he would look shy as though he was unsure whether he was making me happy or not. And sometimes, he would look very smug and self-satisfied, secure in the knowledge that he could bring out such strong reactions in me that it made me keen for more.

My particular favorite, though, was the look when he raised his face that telegraphed his need of me, because, when it came right down to it, this is what I was really wanting. I wanted him to need me enough to come back to me.

At this point, he would move quickly and decisively, because that was his nature. Bringing his body up over mine, sometimes pausing for a moment to kiss my belly or run his tongue into my navel or over a nipple as a tease, he would position his hips between my thighs and bend his arms so he could rest on his elbows. He would always check my face, first to see if I was all right and then to give himself a chance to take in my reaction and use it to heighten his own. And finally, depending on how much of a hurry he was in by this point, he would wait for me to grasp his penis and guide it in, use his own hand for the purpose or, if the positioning and timing were just right, without any manual assistance, thrust himself in with a mighty push that would always leave me gasping in surprise at the sensation of it.

And that's usually as far as that one needed to go.

Of the two, the short version or the long version, the longer one always gave me the more violent orgasm, but I wasn't choosy. For me, the real point was that John was, in one way or another, at the forefront of my thoughts, and if I couldn't have him near me in the flesh, at least I could have some measure of happiness on call when needed.

I'd always managed to get John, Jr., out, cleaned and back into the drawer for the next time before dropping off into a dead sleep, but sometimes it was a close call. I'd thought of getting a vibrator before we'd had our night together but now I'm glad I didn't. I don't think I could have conjured him up the same way over the whirring sound, imagined that it was his skin next to mine, his magnificent cock in me, or felt that he was with me again and loving me with his gorgeous body and mind.

So what does it say in the virgin manual about rubber appliances? Do they count? Because the only thing I was afraid of was that my memories of him would fade, that I would lose the shreds of him that swirled in my mind during the day and even more vividly during the night.

It was the only thing I was afraid of, that is, until one night at the bar, just before closing time after most of the customers had packed up and left, when the door swung open, letting in a rush of damp air left over from a recent rain shower, and John Casey stepped over the threshold.

* * *

I think my heart actually stopped for a second. I know people say that all the time but it's the strangest sensation. My heart stopped, time stopped, whatever, take your pick. All I know is that when it started up again my nerves were literally humming inside my body like high tension wires on full surge when his eyes met mine from across the room.

Thank God for small mercies. Willie and his friends had already left and the final three drinkers shuffled quietly around John and exited, leaving the two of us alone. As I had the last time, I came out from behind the bar and hurried over to the door to lock it and turn off the exterior lights.

So what was it that I was afraid of? Here he was, standing in front of me, just as I remembered him from the last time and just as I had pictured him every day and every night since he had disappeared from my life. I should be happy, right? But all I could do was stand mute before him, fearful that he was here for some reason not connected to me, to us, and that he would be gone again in a couple of minutes. I had never plunged from such a height of euphoria to such a depth of despair so fast in my life, and my stomach even lurched a bit and threatened to betray my nervousness.

John must have seen the turmoil my mind was in. He reached out a hand and placed his fingers gently under my chin, coaxing my eyes up from the floor, where I had been staring dumbly at his shoes.

"Hello, Darlene," he said in a low, gravelly voice that set my nerves to singing again.

I cleared my throat and blinked a couple of times like an owl that's just been disturbed in the middle of the day. It was actually difficult to begin to speak, but I knew I had to say something to cause this dream to become reality, so I made an extra effort and managed, "Hello, John."

And then I was caught up in his embrace.

His arms circled my body tightly, almost too tightly, and he lifted me so my feet were dangling a few inches from the floor. His chin was tucked over my shoulder, as mine was over his, and when he lowered me back down a moment later and we pulled our heads back, we were wearing identical grins of happiness.

For some reason, I got nervous again, which was silly, considering I hadn't been nervous with him the first time we had been together. Maybe it was because I had built up such a strong fantasy life around him and I was afraid he would discover it or maybe he wouldn't find me attractive this time. All my fears were unfounded, however, as the kiss fantasy that I had run over and over again in my head was playing out now in real life. He looked deep into my eyes before searching out my lips with his, and when our mouths made contact, that old familiar jolt ran through my body, searing every fiber with its intensity and finally taking up residence in my lower abdomen. Our physical contact seemed to affect John in a similar fashion, and he thrust his hips forwards while bending his knees so he could make contact with my crotch. I was ready for him, my thighs parted, and I pushed back, tilting my pelvis towards him, frenzied by my hunger for him.

This second contact between our bodies did nothing to relieve our need to be touching each other. In fact, it just served to intensify my longing to feel more of John and he of me.

Our knees gave out at the same time and we sank to the floor of the tavern, still holding a relatively chaste kiss considering what our lower regions seemed to be doing of their own accord. And even as we writhed around, our breathing coming dangerously fast, John was careful to make sure I didn't hit my head or that he wasn't squashing me. I'm not sure I would have cared at that point anyway, because the only thing I could really feel were his mouth on mine and his stiffening cock, still inside his pants and, in spite of at least four layers of fabric between us, making me harder and wetter than I had been in a very long time as he ground himself onto me and moved his hips up and back in a teenage version of sex that I had vague memories of from my youth.

None of the pimply faced boys from way back then had ever made me feel like this, though, and I cried out in anguish when he suddenly stopped his movement and raised up off of me. I opened my eyes to see what was happening and my look of disappointment changed to one of lust as I saw John's hands going for his pants button and tugging open his zipper. I followed suit and hastily opened my jeans, wiggling my legs around so I could kick off my shoes and push the pant legs down and off the ends of my feet along with my panties. By the time I had re-positioned my legs so they were spread sufficiently to allow John to resume his rightful place between them, he had pulled his pants down far enough so they were no longer a barrier to our coupling, and he was almost entirely inside me before I had a chance to register and enjoy his entry.

And, as before, in real life and in my fantasies, he paused when his full length was where it belonged to kiss me, gently this time. He even whispered my name when he was finished with the kiss, which, for maximum effect, I will repeat here for you.

"Darlene."

And I was bumped up to the next level of bliss. If it wasn't Nirvana, then it was damn close, I'm telling you.

* * *

When he started to withdraw and began short, urgent strokes, I knew it was because he was just as excited as I was, too excited to completely withdraw and push in again. I gave in to an overwhelming urge to say his name at this point, and with each quick thrust that drove him deeply into me, I repeated, "John, John, oh, John," and variations on that kind of thing. The words "I love you," also popped into my head at one point, but I pushed them aside, moaning loudly and calling out his name as he grunted and stopped abruptly at the top of his final thrust.

The walls of my vagina were moving around so much at this point, rippling and contracting, that he cried out with pleasure and wiggled his bum around a bit to try to get in even farther. We both suspended movement at the same time to focus all our attention on our final throes of passion, even going so far as to hold our breaths, and we let out gasps at the same time a moment later when it was finally, finally over.

John's eyes focused on mine after that and a beatific smile creased his cheeks as he watched my face relax and light up in my joy.

"So," he said, chuckling slightly, "I just dropped by to see if you might want to spend some time with me again."

I smiled even wider at this and we both began to chortle like idiots, which eventually turned into full-blown laughter and, with helpless tears of happiness rolling down my cheeks as I listened to John's loud guffaws booming through the bar, I was almost afraid that someone would call the police to find out what the commotion was all about.


	2. The Queen of Soul

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

* * *

Chapter 2 – The Queen of Soul

When we had settled down enough to decide that we should get up from the floor and deal with our half-naked states, John rose and reached down to help me up. His pants were still down around mid-thigh, though, and the goods, now limp once more and dangling, were at my eye level for a second or so as he hauled me up. I'm afraid I unashamedly took a very good look and silently welcomed them – um, John back. I even got a nod from the little fella in greeting, so by the time I was back on my feet, I was smiling at my private joke with a bit of a faraway look in my eyes which, apparently, John noticed.

"Forgotten about me already?" he asked as he pulled his shorts and pants back into place before tucking in his shirt and fastening his zipper.

I stopped dead, my face falling as I turned my eyes up to his and began to splutter a protest.

"Darlene, Darlene, I'm kidding," he reassured me gently.

I. Was. Not. Going. To. Cry.

I really wondered whether he had any idea how much of a loop he had thrown me for. It shouldn't have hit me like this since he had been my phantom lover from the moment he had gone back to his secretive other life the last time, but I was having trouble sorting out my feelings on such short notice and coming up with something that made any sense at all for our unique relationship.

Suddenly, I was feeling light-headed and my legs began to crumple underneath me. John, with his quick reflexes and a deeply worried look on his face, kept me from hitting the floor by scooping me up into his arms. He turned around, headed quickly for the bar and laid me down on its surface, then turned to place one large hand on either side of my face and checked for any signs that I might faint on him again, all the while saying, "Darlene, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have surprised you like this. Please forgive me. I couldn't let you know I was coming ahead of time or I would have. Or maybe I shouldn't even have come at all."

I had recovered myself by this last statement enough to pull his hands away and swing myself up and around so I was sitting on the edge of the bar. I hugged him tightly around the neck in what amounted to a stranglehold before easing off slightly and hooking my ankles around him behind his back.

"No, John, I'm sorry," I told his ear in a whisper. "Yes, it's a shock to see you again like this, and since we're supposed to be as truthful as we can with each other, I have to say that I've missed you so much more than you can imagine, even when I thought I'd never see you again, but I'd rather you come to me when you can than not at all, even if it does hurt."

I loosened my hold on his neck and pulled back so I could look him in the eyes.

"Look, John," I continued, "I don't know what's right or wrong here, how we should behave with each other. Frankly, for all I know, you could be married with a wife and kids in the suburbs and you come into the city and make yourself appear as something else, someone more exciting, to get your kicks and score extra points for stringing along a gullible female."

I released him and slid from the edge of the bar to my feet, pushing out of his half-embrace as I did so and holding him at arm's length. By this time, his expression was as serious as mine and maybe even a little angry because of the picture I had just painted of him, but he didn't appear impatient with me, only perturbed that this was one possible scenario that I had come up with to explain his silence about himself.

After I let him work through it a bit, I continued.

"I honestly don't think that's true, though. I have to rely on you to tell me what you can and try not to let my imagination run with it, but you can see how it can be a bit difficult when I truly know so little about you and apparently can never know."

Biting my lip a bit before jumping into the abyss, I then said, "Because, John, as much as I tried not to, and as much as it's unwise, I do love you so very much."

His face changed like quicksilver to a look of worry that I only saw for a moment before he wrapped me up in his embrace and began apologizing once more.

"Darlene, I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you," he said quietly. "I don't think there's anything I can say to you about it that won't make it worse."

"How about 'Are you cold and can I get your jeans for you?'" I replied with a slight tone of humor in my voice. Moving away from his arms, I reached up to tenderly stroke his hair back into place before adding, "And then I can close up here so we can decide what comes next."

He smiled a bit sheepishly at this and answered me with, "All right," accompanied by a very nice, light kiss on my lips that, even though it was brief, still burned them from his touch, and he left me standing there bare-assed to go over and retrieve my clothes from the middle of the floor.

* * *

John handed me my panties, jeans and shoes and walked back to the bar to sit on a bar stool. It was the same one he had used eight months ago, but he couldn't have appeared any different if he tried. I glanced around behind myself at him as I bent down to pull on the legs of my pants. He was slumped over in a defeated attitude, elbows supporting himself on the bar top, and he was scrubbing his face up and down in his palms. I guess I could have felt a bit triumphant that our situation was affecting him to some degree, but I couldn't bring myself to view him as "the enemy" just because he had hurt me. I'm pretty sure he wasn't a saint – nobody is – but I got the feeling once again that he was trying his best to be as kind as he could while taking into account all the other factors he was aware of that I wasn't.

I made a bit of noise as I put my shoes on and announced, "There, all dressed," before turning around to go behind the bar just to give him a chance to re-assume whatever face he wanted to present to me, and when I turned around to him with the bar between us, his expression was soft with only a hint of stress in the fine lines around the outsides of his eyes, a bit of a vertical cleft above the bridge of his nose where his brows were drawn together, along with a weariness and sorrow in his eyes that made my heart go out to him.

"I'll just do the till now and put the cash in the safe," I said, so as to bring us around to more mundane topics.

And then I hit on a sure-fire lifeboat in times of human crises.

"Are you hungry? Only I don't really have any food at home, so if you want something, we should eat before we go to my place."

Standing stock still as I realized what I had just said, I added, "That is, if you're still coming to my place."

John's face smoothed out completely. He let out a sigh that seemed to expel the last of the tension that he had been holding in, and the beautiful smile that I had dreamed about so often appeared once more.

"Yes, Darlene, I would like to come to your place tonight and I would like to go and get something to eat first. I just remembered I didn't have any supper earlier. And when we get to your apartment, we don't have to –"

I rushed over to place my fingers on his lips to silence him.

"Shhh, shhh," I hissed gently. "Let's just go and eat and maybe talk a bit and then we'll see how it goes. We'll figure this out, I'm sure we will, but we'll do it over some food and coffee, all right?"

I moved my hand from his lips and placed my palm on his cheek where he grasped it and held it in place, looking into my eyes with his beautiful, deep blue ones and, turning his head, kissed the inside of my wrist before letting my hand go.

I was no Hard-Hearted Hannah by any means, so even if I had decided to make him jump through hoops and beg, that resolve would have been out the window at this point, and I turned back to the till so I could hide a smile and savor the rush of warmth and contentment that was flowing through my body.

* * *

There was a pretty good all-night diner a few blocks in the direction away from my apartment, and we walked there arm-in-arm in a companionable silence. When we entered and slid into a booth on opposite sides of the table, the waitress approached with a pot of coffee and poured into the cups that were already there. Then she gave us each a menu that was almost as thick as _War and Peace_.

"Any recommendations?" John asked as he flipped through the gaudy, brightly colored pages.

"Pancakes for me," I replied, going straight for the appropriate page.

"Ah, a woman after my own heart," John said, and lowered his menu to grin in my direction. "How about the platter for two, three regular, three buckwheat, three blueberry, with fresh fruit and maple syrup? Do you want bacon?"

"Bacon, the primary male food group," I quipped before answering, "No, thanks. The pancakes and fruit sound good to me. Although I could go for some whipped cream."

"Whipped cream, the primary female food group," John joked back, and we both chuckled for a moment as we looked into each other's eyes.

Suddenly the atmosphere had become somber.

"Darlene, I –" John began, but he was interrupted by the waitress, who had come to take our order.

When she had written down our choices and left again, I expected John to continue what he had been about to say. Instead, he looked at me speculatively as I resisted chewing on the edge of a fingernail. The silence was beginning to draw out a little, and just before I was going to open my mouth and say something to try and start some kind of conversation, John unzipped his jacket slightly and reached to an inside pocket, pulling out a slim wallet and flipping it open. He placed it face-up on the surface of the table and slid it towards me, saying as he did so, "Hello, my name is John Casey. I work for the NSA. I couldn't help noticing you sitting there all by yourself, and I wonder if I might join you."

And of course I immediately got a giant lump in my throat and couldn't speak. I waited for a couple of seconds until my throat loosened up again and said, "Hello, John. I'm Darlene Moreland. It's nice to meet you. Yes, please join me."

I extended my hand over the table and John took it gently in his, at the same time reaching over to take back his I.D. wallet. We didn't actually shake, just sat still holding hands in the air over the table and looking into each other's eyes. After a moment, John began to stroke the back of my hand with his thumb while maintaining eye contact, a hopeful expression on his face.

Well, I admit, I hadn't known until that moment that the back of my hand was an erogenous zone, but apparently, it was. The heat mounted in my neck and in my thighs as John continued his light stroking, and when he increased the pressure slightly, I experienced my first ever mini-orgasm.

My lips parted and I gasped a bit in surprise. I could feel all my nervy bits pulsing and contracting sharply as a deliciously slippery wetness formed and threatened to overspill its confines.

The spell was broken by the arrival of our food, which is probably just as well. I suddenly had a vivid picture in my head of myself with John on top of me on the orange Lucite table fucking among coffee cups and platters of pancakes. Actually, it might have been interesting. The waitress had brought the whipped cream I ordered, after all.

* * *

We talked as we ate and became very comfortable with each other once again. I told John that I really was okay with him having to lead another life that didn't include me, and he tried to explain that he didn't want to tie me down to a relationship that couldn't go anywhere.

"John," I said, trying to put every ounce of sincerity that I could muster into my voice, "I want you. I want you for however often and however long you can be with me. If that scares you or doesn't work out with your job, I guess I'll have to learn to live with that, but I hope you can figure out a way that you can be with me. And you don't have to come up with any kind of answer right now. Just let me have you and let me love you tonight, at least."

John had stopped eating while he listened to this forthright declaration. I really hoped I hadn't frightened him off, but I guess he was made of sterner stuff, because what he did was look me straight in the eye, smile slightly, and say, "I think that can be arranged."

I smiled back and we chuckled silently a bit. I think we were both relieved to have gotten past that hurdle. I figured at this point that changing the subject would be a good idea, so I asked John to tell me what he could about his work, and even though he didn't really tell me much in detail, he did it in such a humorous way that soon I was laughing through mouthfuls of pancake. I'm afraid I spewed pancake crumbs onto the table a couple of times before I could get my hand in place to prevent it.

"I usually end up being the bartender," he explained around a mouthful of bacon. "I can mix a mean drink but I don't think I've ever had to do a full shift so I honestly don't know how you do it."

"It's a quiet life, routine," I answered. "I've been doing it for so long I don't think I know how to do anything else. And I keep up with the latest in mixology, so that's interesting. I'll give you some recipes."

"That would be nice," John said as he stabbed a strawberry slice with his fork.

Instead of eating the strawberry himself, however, he paused and looked into my eyes again, not smiling and not serious but almost tentative, as though he knew he was taking a chance on something that might not work out. He extended his fork across the table and stopped when the fruit was just in front of my mouth. His lips parted, and I think it was his look of vulnerability that did the trick. I opened my mouth and extended my tongue, using just the tip to lick the strawberry, letting my eyes close slowly as I did. I hoped that this was coming across as seductive and not ridiculous, and I opened my eyes to check for John's reaction. It was good.

I could see that his respiration had increased and he was beginning to run his tongue over his own lips, so I leaned forwards a bit more and sucked the strawberry into my mouth and off of the tines of the fork. A red end of the fruit was still protruding out a bit, so I raised a finger, stiffened it, and used the edge of my fingernail to push the berry into my mouth the rest of the way. I even added a little moan and closed my eyes again briefly as I sucked on my fingertip and withdrew it. On the second check of the effect this display was having on the man sitting across from me, I was satisfied to see that he was completely captivated by my little fruit porno scenario, and he cleared his throat with a rasping sound and croaked, "Darlene, can we go now?"

Without even waiting for an answer, John jumped up from his seat and hurried over to the cash to pay for our meal. I got up at a more sedate and decorous pace and joined him just as he had finished paying with a generous tip and was about to follow him out the door when the waitress who had served us hurried up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

"For later, on the house," she whispered conspiratorially as she shoved a large Styrofoam takeout container into my hands. "Put it in the fridge."

I said thank you, a puzzled look on my face, and the woman turned and went into the back room of the diner. I stopped for a moment, curiosity getting the better of me, and popped open the lid of the container.

It was filled with whipped cream.

Bless her.


	3. Little Miss Dynamite

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

* * *

Chapter 3 – Little Miss Dynamite

Once we were back out on the street, John noticed the package in my hands and tried to take it from me. What a gentleman. And not a chance. I wasn't going to let the cat out of the bag.

I managed to hold the container in one hand and tuck it under my elbow so I could grab onto John's arm with the other hand, and we made our way along the street, hurrying a bit to shorten the time that we had to pretend to the outside world that the farthest thing from our minds was a desire to get naked as quickly as possible. So with a single-minded determination shared between us, we raced up the stairs, John taking two at a time. I had slipped him my apartment key before we started our ascent so that the door was open when I got there a minute or so after him, and when I hurried in and closed the door behind myself, I got a bit of a shock at what awaited me inside.

John had already taken his jacket off and hung it in the closet. He still had his shoulder holster on and there was something in his hand. It was a small gift box wrapped in light blue paper with a gold ribbon tied around it.

"I got you this," he said, looking a bit nervous as he held the box out towards me.

I began to smile at the incongruity of the scene. I really wouldn't have expected John to do something like this, not on the second visit to a person that he came to for what could only be called casual sex.

"Which one, you or the present?" I asked, my eyes twinkling.

"Um, both?" he hazarded, raising his eyebrows and smiling too as he realized that I was beginning to enjoy this.

"But which one do I unwrap first?!" I protested loudly, whining a bit. I approached him and walked between his arms, tilting my face for a kiss, which John provided willingly.

I suddenly remembered I was still holding the container of whipped cream and broke away from his light embrace, running quickly around him. He dropped his arms down heavily and turned to watch my retreating back. I guess he wasn't the only one who could do something unexpected, and when I returned to the living room after putting the container in the fridge, he was warily baby-stepping towards the back of the couch that acted as a divider of sorts between the entry hall and the rest of the apartment looking somewhat crestfallen.

I took John's wrists in both my hands and tugged him around the end of the couch, pushing him down to sit while I remained standing. He sat and unbuckled his holster, pulled the gun out and checked that the safety was on, then replaced it back in the holster, reaching over to deposit both on the side table nearby. When he turned back to me, he pouted playfully, saying, "Don't you want your present?"

"Of course I do, you wonderful man. Gimme."

I held both hands out like a child, wiggling my fingers, and when he handed me the box, I grinned and bounced down to sit beside him, holding the present in one hand and using the other to maneuver John's arm around my shoulders.

He smiled smugly and gave me a delicious sideways squeeze that almost made me drop the box, and I exclaimed, "Hey! Watch it! Present opening here!" which made him chuckle and loosen his hold while still keeping a firm grip on me.

I turned my attention to the gift, tugging on the end of the ribbon and placing it on the couch beside me when it was free of the wrapping. Then I carefully ran the end of my fingernail underneath the folded-over edge of the paper to break the tape seal. Removing the paper and placing it beside the ribbon, I was delighted to see a dark brown velvet jeweler's box with a gold braid edging, and I turned my face to look with sparkling eyes at John, who hadn't dropped his self-satisfied look while he watched me.

"Well, go on, open it," he coaxed gently, and I did.

Inside was a quite large natural teardrop pearl hanging from a gold setting on a gold chain. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I had ever seen in my life. I never went in for those gaudy pieces with all the diamonds and emeralds. Too much "see-how-much-money-I've-got" for me. This. This was classy. This made me feel classy.

Okay, maybe what I did next could be considered not so classy, but I was feeling very generous at this point and more than a little turned on by Mr. I'm All That, who was now looking so pleased with himself that I thought he might split his face with his patented, Super-Deluxe, mindblowing smile. It was obvious that he was waiting to be praised and petted for doing good. Men. They're so transparent.

Well, I could certainly manage the petting, at any rate.

I got up from the couch and went over to the stereo, swishing my rear end a bit to give John something to look at while I was gone. Turning on the unit, I selected a new compilation CD I had just picked up of sultry female singers from a few decades ago and turned the music on.

Sashaying back over to the couch in time with the music, I grabbed the bottom edge of my tank top and pulled it down to reveal my breasts and bra over the edge of the neckline, then moved my hands to the base of my neck and ran them down over my breasts, belly, around my hips and finally to the insides of my thighs. By this time I was standing in front of John, who had a look of anticipatory delight on his face.

I bent over from the waist and reached out, putting a hand on each of his knees, and pulled them apart until his legs were spread widely and then, to the beat of a slow ballad, I moved between his thighs and snaked sinuously up his crotch, stomach and chest until my breasts were at the level of his head.

Judging by his rapt expression that spoke of ardent attention, he seemed to be enjoying his lap dance already, and I moved my hips from side to side as I squirmed on him while occasionally breathing into his ear and biting his earlobe or neck when I was in a position to do so. When the first song was just about over, John's respiration was erratic, almost a gasp, and catching in his throat. He looked quite pink around his collar and the flush was rapidly spreading up his neck. I had felt a bit of activity below the belt as well when I had pressed myself to him, so it was no surprise when he moved around in his sitting position and grabbed each of my hips in his hands, pulling me down and towards him so we could grind together, and we looked into each other's eyes, almost as if in a trance.

When the next song started, another ballad, it took a moment for me to remember what it was, and I stiffened a bit and tried to pull out of John's grasp to go and change the music.

"Darlene," he said, keeping a firm hold on me and not allowing me to escape, "I know this song. Let it play."

The intro seemed to last for an excruciatingly long time before Brenda Lee's voice floated into the room.

_Break it to me gently  
Let me down the easy way  
Make me feel that you still love me  
if it's just, if it's just for one more day_

_Break it to me gently  
So my tears, my tears won't fall too fast  
If you must go, then go slowly  
Let me love you 'til the last_

_The love we shared for oh, so long  
is such a big part of me  
If you must take your love away  
take it gradually_

_Oh, oh break it, break it to me gently  
Give me time, oh, give me a little time to ease the pain  
Love me just a little longer  
'Cause I'll never, never love again  
'Cause I'll never love again_

When the song had finished and the next one was starting up, we were still looking into each other's eyes. I think I must have been telegraphing the uncertainty and need that I was feeling as I listened to the lyrics that were almost, every word, an exact description of the situation I felt myself in with John. For his part, he was radiating compassion and tenderness through a lighter blue version of his captivating eyes. He was the first to speak.

"Darlene, please love me," he said in an extremely sincere tone. "I'm sorry I can't do more than that for you right now. But I want you to love me."

I nodded, unable to answer with words, and began to smile. Complying right away, I turned and lowered my bottom so I was sitting on one of his thighs and began to kiss his face gently. Running my hands over his head and neck, caressing him with the tips of my fingers, I worked my way around to his mouth and began to kiss him. He responded right away but let me take the lead, and I slowly explored his lips and mouth with my tongue and lips. Holding the sides of his face between my hands, I positioned his head just right, chin raised, so I could really make a thorough job of it and continued until we were both having trouble catching our breaths.

When we parted, gasping a bit, we were both smiling, and John's arms, which he had put around me loosely so he could concentrate on our kissing, tightened. He laid his head on my breasts while I stroked his head once more, crooning some nursery song that he could feel through the vibrations in my chest while listening to my heart beat.

He shuddered massively in my embrace, and I knew that he had released some emotional tension that had wound him up. This got me feeling very maternal and, strangely enough, very horny, and I reached down with one hand to his belly and pulled the end of his shirt out of his waistband.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" he exclaimed, startled from his relaxation.

"Opening my other present," I explained, and I kept tugging on his shirt until I could get my hand underneath, running my fingers over his hairy belly and tickling a bit. I caught his mouth in another kiss, a harder one this time, and alternated between tickling, lightly scratching, and pressing on the sensitive bits of flesh just in front of his hip bones.

When I slipped my hand down farther below the edge of his pants, guess what was there to greet me! I ran my hand down his length and I could feel his erection filling out at my touch. When I had shoved my hand down far enough that I could cup his balls and give him a light massage, John began to groan into my mouth and changed position so I could have easier access. I then reached behind his scrotum and lightly pinched and firmly rubbed the base of his penis, and he disengaged from our kiss and moved his arms to grab me under the knees and behind my back. I had to remove my hand from his pants when he stood, which is what he wanted anyways. He then stooped down, grabbed the little jewelry box and straightened up, stooping again to hook a finger through the strap of his gun and holster from the side table before turning swiftly to carry me to my bedroom, where he deposited me carefully on the surface of the bed.

As I started to take my top off, John said, "No, I want to undress you. Give me a moment," and he laid the gun and jewelry box on the dresser before stripping his clothes off. Like the last time, he unstrapped a gun and knives sheath from his legs and checked the gun before putting them on the dresser. He quickly removed his shoes, socks and shirt, and when his pants and shorts were off and discarded to one side, he approached the bed with a clear look of determination and purpose.

And a penis that had already begun to sit up and take notice.

He was so gentle and his expression so tender, it cast an intimacy around us that focused all my attention on John, his body, his hands. He started by getting me to sit beside him on the edge of the bed where he simply ran his hands through my hair a couple of times. As I stared wide-eyed and trustingly at his face, he kept his eyes turned to where his fingers were combing and rubbing lightly on my scalp. He seemed in those moments like a craftsman, wary of making a mistake in his work while at the same time sure of his deftness and skill.

From the top of my head, he turned his attention to my neck and shoulders as his hands and eyes explored my skin. He grasped my upper arms lightly and pushed so I was turned away from him as far as my knees against the bed would allow. Massaging the cords that run up either side of my neck, he coaxed me to relax before reaching down and catching the bottom edge of my top in those strong yet gentle hands. He pulled my top off over my head and cast it aside to the floor, quickly returning his hands to the base of my neck where he continued tracing the outlines of bones and muscles with light brushes and firm pressures.

By this time, I was beginning to fall into some kind of trance so I didn't even realize he had undone the clasp on my bra until he was teasing the straps from my shoulders and reaching under my arms and around my ribs to work the ends of his fingers under the cups and push them down and off of my breasts. I gasped and arched my back as the rough skin of his fingerprints scored lines of tingles on the outsides of my breasts, and when he lightly touched my nipples and circled them for a moment before withdrawing his hands, I hissed air in sharply through my teeth and fell back towards his chest in an effort to bring his hands once again into delicious contact with the now-sensitized nubs of flesh.

Unfortunately, by this time, John had already pulled his hands back around and out from under my arms, but I did manage to lean into him enough so that the hair on his chest and the firm wall of muscle underneath were pressed against me, and I luxuriated in the warmth and strength that I could feel there, even through my back.

Now it was time for John to take off my pants, and he grasped my waist and lifted up a bit to indicate that I should stand, which I did immediately and eagerly. Then he turned me around to face him, still not looking at my eyes but only where his hands were doing their work. He undid the button on my jeans and pulled the zipper tab down, and when he had parted the two sides of fabric, he inserted his index fingers underneath the edge of my panties, fingernails towards my belly, and ran them over the area below my navel, barely brushing the top of my pubic hair with his fingertips.

It was entirely maddening and glorious. I began to reach out with my hands to push my pants out of the way but something made me stop, and I subsided to let John carry on in whatever way he chose. I suddenly realized that instead of trying to rush things it was much more exciting to just relax and feel the sensations he was creating in my body and mind with only his fingers and his complete attention. Hmm, which was doing more for me? I'd have to go on the side of the attention.

It's so easy to get caught up in only the physical side of sex, especially if you haven't been in a relationship long enough for the initial heat to have steadied a bit. And since I had never been in any one relationship that had developed to this stage or been with men who understood the subtleties involved and the value of being emotionally present and in the moment with a partner, John, just by touching me and tracking his touches with his eyes, was making me the center of his thoughts, of his universe. Without having said the words, he was loving me in a way that felt cherishing, dignified, almost holy.

The spell was broken for a bit when he began to pull my jeans down and I had to toe off my shoes and lift my feet into the air one by one like an ungainly stork, but there was still enough of a glow of wonder left that when John rose from the bed to stand in front of me and I looked up into his eyes, I knew that he could see I trusted him and wanted to feel him lying next to me.

He reached down and pulled the covers back, and I crawled in and under them, a rush of anticipation causing me to smile as I felt John following behind me and pulling the covers into place over us both. We rolled towards the center of the bed, thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach, and I put my left arm around his lower chest while tucking my right up under my chin and resting my head on the pillow. John put his upper arm around my shoulder and back and worked his other arm underneath my head so my cheek was resting on his biceps. Then he backed his torso away a bit so he could bend his neck and look into my upturned face, a ghost of that smile still on my lips.

He opened his mouth as though to speak but then seemed to cut the thought off by sheer willpower and clamped his lips shut into a tight line, sighing afterwards, a sigh full of regret. His distress was so apparent, I immediately reached up with both my hands, placed them on his temples, and drew his forehead to my lips for a kiss.

"Don't worry, John," I said softly when we were looking into each other's eyes again, "this is a place where you can find some peace."

* * *

_Break It To Me Gently_, music by blues musician Joe Seneca and lyrics by Diane Lampert

As performed by Brenda Lee (YouTube /watch?v=xhxC3F1hvdo)


	4. Miss Peaches

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

* * *

Chapter 4 – Miss Peaches

I guess at that point, John was able to relax enough to take me at my word. He shifted down in the bed so he could lay the side of his head on my breasts for a pillow once more and reached down to cup his hand under my thigh, pulling my leg up so it was hooked over his hip and around his waist. I wiggled my butt a bit to make myself comfortable in this position, pressing myself to him as much as I could, and proceeded to enjoy this new arrangement to the full.

I cradled his head and dragged my fingernails through his hair, scratching his scalp and the back of his neck lightly and soothingly as I rested my cheek against the top of his head. He settled in a bit more, and I could feel his penis, which was still a bit turgid from before, subside in his relaxation. It wasn't too long after that I realized John's breathing had evened out, then slowed down and finally began rasping in a light snore as he drifted off to sleep.

I was glad not to be sleepy because it meant I could stay awake and hold him, happily collecting sensations and memories that I could take out and inspect when he left again later in the day. As much as I wanted to pretend that he might stay, that he might suddenly awake and tell me he loved me and that he was never going to leave me, I could only pretend for so long, and I think it was that thought that brought the past back to me in such strong relief, that and the position we were lying in, with me cradling John's head to my breast, just like I used to hold my little Bobby, my little boy.

The memory came at me sideways so that I didn't have any time to prepare for it. Sitting in a rocking chair by a cradle in the half-light cast by a bedside lamp, its shade brightly painted with Woody and Buzz Lightyear and other characters from _Toy Story_. My little baby suckling greedily at my breast as I rocked back and forth, a happy and knowing mother's smile on my face. The empowering feeling of having someone depend on you for their wellbeing, even for their life. The serene knowledge that whatever they required could somehow be done for them, just because they needed it to be done. And the unbreakable bond of love that made all this possible.

These old memories and visions became mixed up in my mind's eye with John's head, now where Bobby's used to be, drawing succor of a different kind but still a human being depending on me to provide. I could feel the two different timelines surging together, like being buffeted by waves crashing over me from every side. I was a mother, a friend, a lover all rolled into one. Most importantly, to this man, I was a woman.

I started to shake a bit as I tried not to move around and disturb the sleeping form in my arms. After just a few seconds, I had myself under control again and the agitated thoughts that had come on me so suddenly gradually calmed. Maybe this was why I was so fixated on John, why I wanted to do anything he needed just because he seemed to need it. This kind of made sense.

If I hadn't lost my little boy so long ago, maybe I would have had the chance to mother him and love him and help him grow into a man. Maybe I could have satisfied the mothering need in me. As it was, I guess it was something I had missed all along that I wasn't even aware of, and John was going to reap the benefit. And since he seemed to be searching for what I had to give, even if he may not have realized himself that that's what it was, well, I really didn't see anything wrong with the arrangement. In fact, I couldn't have stumbled upon a more worthy recipient of my love.

My worthy recipient was beginning to wake up. He moved his chin downwards to burrow farther into my chest, then stiffened slightly as he awoke a bit more and realized that he wasn't at home in his own bed and that his pillow was actually soft, warm flesh. When he raised his head a bit and looked up at me, he was smiling sleepily, his eyes only open to slits framed by long sandy lashes, and he cleared his throat, which I guess had become a bit dry.

"Mmmmmmm," he rumbled his contentment as he tightened his arms around me once more.

Was I that easy? Was that all it took? John's voice must have had the exact timber and tone that accessed the slutty part of my brain. That was the only explanation for it. Otherwise, why was I already so hot and getting hotter, so wet and getting wetter, so short of breath and gasping for air so soon? And the man hadn't even said an actual word.

I shifted around a bit and wiggled down until my crotch was almost flush against John's in a sort of lap he had created by bending the knee of his topmost leg. I could feel the skin of his thigh brush against the dampening space between my legs as he pulled his knee higher in response to my movement, and what he did next was so instinctual and exciting, I felt like I was going to explode with my desire for him.

First, after he had halted my downward movement by repositioning his leg so I didn't have to travel any farther to bring our naughty bits together, he simultaneously lowered his head to my breast and moved his upper arm downwards over my back and buttocks to reach between my legs from behind. Then, as he licked lightly at a nipple, he also began, in sort of a mirroring fashion, to run the ends of two fingers around the opening of my vagina, sliding them in and out just the smallest amount before circling again.

When he took my nipple into his mouth, giving it a good suck while pushing his fingers into me to continue the circular motion from the inside, I lost it completely, crying out his name and just plain crying out as I jerked around, grinding my clitoris onto his thigh and clinging to the sides of his head with my hands as he continued to suck at my breasts, first one side, then the other.

Wow. That's all. Just wow.

I don't know how he knew, but the man must have had some special training in advanced sexual techniques, because just before I was beginning to go for the finish line, he stopped his attentions at my breasts and withdrew his fingers, quickly rolling me over onto my back where he spread my thighs up and apart and used his hand to guide his newly minted miracle erection into me. I was so sensitized at this point that I had to close my eyes and clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream as his thick and throbbing penis threatened to cause my brain to overload when the friction created as it pressed against every inch of the surface of my vagina was translated by the old gray matter into intense, searing sexual pleasure. So naturally I didn't see what was coming next until it happened.

John slid his arms underneath me, just below my ribs, and lifted me into the air, at the same time rocking back until he was on his knees, his bottom propped on his heels. I can tell you, I'm not overweight by any means, but I'm not some teeny Hollywood waif either. The man must have had enormous strength in his arms to be able to pull this move off. I just hoped he wasn't going to hurt his back.

I also wasn't sure what he intended to do for a moment, because suspended in the air, impaled, as it were, on his cock, how was I going to manage the jiggy-jiggy part? I needn't have worried. John was taking care of it.

He braced one hand on the bed beside him, still holding on to me with the other arm, and untucked his legs as he lowered himself smoothly onto his bum and then his back, his head now at the bottom of the bed. So that was it. Girl on top. Me like.

I could feel John adjusting his position underneath me as I settled down on his cock. When I gave a little wiggle of my bum to make sure that I had all of him inside me that I possibly could, his knees jerked reflexively and his mouth opened in a gasp as he closed his eyes to savor the new sensation.

When I opened my own eyes once more, which had also closed to allow all of my concentration to focus on the soul-melting contact between us, I could see very clearly that John's attention was already directed elsewhere. To two specific elsewheres, to be more exact: my left breast and my right breast.

He kept his eyes fixed with childlike fascination on my chest, and when I raised up a bit into the air, his eyes followed their targets with perfect synchronization. I'm pretty sure he was still able to enjoy the hot, slippery wetness I was producing that made it possible for me to slowly and smoothly create penile stimulation that would keep John hard and help him along to his orgasm, but it was very easy to see at this point that the girls were doing their part to aid the cause.

I leaned down towards John's head when I had him all inside me once more, my nipples brushing the hair on his chest and sending shivers up my neck, and told him with a grin, "You can touch them, you know," before straightening my back again and moving away from him.

He didn't wait for a second invitation and moved his hands from where he had been holding onto my hips to palm my nipples, letting his fingers curl around the outside flesh and flexing the joints to dig the ends in a bit in a massaging motion. This was, of course, great as far as I was concerned, and I figured it was time to give this man a reward.

I shimmied my knees up a bit closer towards John's head so that the next time I slid him out of me, almost all of his length was exposed to the air. When just the head of his penis was still inside, I began to jerk rapidly back and forth, clenching my abdominal and internal muscles tight so that the ring of my vaginal opening was putting maximum friction on his sensitized head.

John's eyes, although they didn't stray from where his hands were still fondling my breasts, widened a bit and his mouth fell open so he could draw panting breaths in time with this new rhythm. My next move was the clincher.

Without any indication of what was coming, so to speak, I dropped my weight onto John abruptly so his cock was swallowed up in my enveloping wetness. I hoped he liked that as much as I did as the surface of his penis made new contact with primed nerves that screamed their pleasure to my brain, and my vocal cords joined in the chorus by producing a long, low moan.

John's accompanying moan, something between a groan and a bass growl, was my reward, and it pulled me down to him once more like an irresistible magnet until I was still kneeling but mostly lying on his abdomen and chest, a good three inches of the base of his cock no longer able to remain inside me in my new position. Lucky for me, John wasn't particular about dominance issues between us, and he took over the work part of the equation right on cue.

Since he could no longer hold my breasts – they were quite comfortably mashed up against his chest at that moment – John transferred his hands to my butt, which was just fine by me, especially when, as he started pushing his hips up and back to keep up his momentum, he moved the cheeks around, sometimes kneading the flesh and sometimes running his hands over the surfaces.

I was doing better than all right at this point, and the feeling of John's cock moving into and out of me along with the air circulation this created as his hands pulled my buttocks apart and pushed them together again was so captivating that it was all I could do to grasp John's shoulders with clenched fingers and enjoy the ride.

Looking back on it now, it seemed a strange time for John to want to start a conversation, particularly since he was having to gasp for every breath with his eyes shut tight and his brows pulled together so he could keep up his motion in a bit of a difficult position, but I began to hear words and then what could pass for sentences as he struggled to express himself. I guess it's kind of funny now, remembering how he sounded, but then, as I was trying to figure out what he was saying while at the same time relishing the feelings that were coursing through me, it seemed like a perfectly rational way to communicate.

"Dar-lene, Dar-lene," he began, each slam of his hips that pushed him back into me punctuating a syllable, "I – I – I want to – I want to – I want – you – you, Dar-lene. I want you."

I raised my head from John's chest where I had been resting it on one cheek and looked at him with amazement, barely believing what I was hearing and confirming the words as his lips moved, his jaw slack and his brow relaxed a bit so his face could take on a look of pure happiness. And when he opened his eyes and raised his head slightly from the surface of the bed, I don't know whether he expected to find me looking at him, but if the grin that appeared when he saw I was already watching him was any indication of his attitude towards me at that moment, well, let's just say my man was mighty pleased to see me smiling back at him.

I wasn't sure if John was looking for any response, but when I replied, "I want you too, baby," he raised his head and shoulders up a bit more so he could kiss me, and the enjoyment in his eyes and the smile that was curving up his lips as they came closer to mine had me so worked up that when he managed to reach between our bellies with an index finger and locate my clitoris so he could give it a good going over, I couldn't help but scream a bit into his mouth and grip his shoulders even tighter than I already had been.

With John's cock still powering in and out of me, his supple lips on mine as his tongue gave me something to suck on to keep me from screaming again and waking up the neighbors, and his fingers pushing the magic button, I was soon coming all over the place. The way we were lying, there was no way I could escape from his continued thrusting when I was done, and since I was long past the point of overload and gearing up for round two when John came, I got to do it all over again, and I whimpered from the onslaught of feeling and emotion as I felt him pulsing his semen into me, his buttocks raised from the surface of the bed and his arms now wound tightly around me, one across my back and one down my side so his hand was cupping my bottom.

Now I was having trouble breathing, and I broke away from our kiss so I could pant it out, almost dreading another wave of stimulation when John's erection began to subside and I could feel him moving out of me. But my attention was diverted once more when I could hear him start to speak again, just whispering at first, then a little louder as his ability to breathe was restored.

"Darlene, you're so sweet, so juicy," he said, gripping me tighter in his embrace. "You're so fresh and alive and delicious."

Well, this was a first for me. This was sounding like an ad from the Fruit Marketing Board. But John was so enthusiastic as he tried to find nice things to say to me that I just smiled back at him, part of my attention on the fact that his penis was just _this far_ away from popping out of me and shorting out my brain again. Oh! Yeah, that's it, 'bye-'bye Little John! Back to what Big John was saying again now.

I thought it might be easier for John to say what it was he was trying to get out if I wasn't looking at him, so I hitched myself up his chest a little farther, ignoring his grunt of protest as I squished his ribcage a bit, and started sprinkling little kisses on his face and neck. When he seemed to hesitate, I encouraged him by saying "Go on, don't hold back, tell me more," before resuming my little adoring kissfest.

John chuckled a bit before considering what to say next and kissed me briefly as my mouth was passing by his on its way to his left ear.

"I don't know why you put up with me," he began, then barked out a laugh when I stopped kissing him long enough to give him a really dirty, suggestive look, eyebrows raised, as if to say, _You don't? Let me give you three guesses_.

When we had stopped laughing, John, some of his smile still in evidence, became serious and put a hand to each side of my face, gently pulling me away from my little smooching project so he could look into my eyes again, his thumbs caressing each cheek as he just regarded me silently, as though he was assessing me and trying to figure out what my reaction might be.

"You'll tell me when you get tired of me, won't you?" he asked in a quiet voice, his eyes indigo blue and bottomless. And though I nodded my head in mute agreement with this proposal, I could only conclude that he said it because he had no immediate plans to tire of me, and, more to the point, that this was a form of emotional commitment that he felt comfortable with, and the unvoiced answer that I told myself was, _I'll never tire of you, John Casey, ever._


	5. Pearl

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

* * *

Chapter 5 – Pearl

I could have lain there for another couple of hours just marveling at the feel of John's skin against mine, counting his breaths and innocently shifting and wiggling around every once in a while to see if I could get anything else interesting to happen. I know, I probably should have let the guy have a bit of a break, but I was officially addicted and wasn't interested in a cure.

Unfortunately, my bladder decided it needed attention, so I reluctantly untangled myself from John's warm embrace and went to the bathroom for a pee. I took the opportunity while I was there to also brush my teeth and do a quick once-over with a washcloth and some hot water to mop up some of the various bodily fluids our lovemaking had produced. Feeling fresh again, I left the bathroom and padded back into the bedroom.

John wasn't there.

I know it was completely irrational, but I thought for a moment that maybe the past few hours had been all in my imagination. But that was silly, and I knew it, because, as I stood there staring at the rumpled bed, I could still feel a pulsing and throbbing between my thighs where John had recently been and a tenderness in my breasts and a swelling of my lips that could only have been caused by John's probing fingers and possessive kisses. Not to mention the swath of whisker burn that my fingers were tracing on my face and neck and, much to my amusement, on my belly just below my navel. Which, of course, was belly hair burn.

I was about to turn and go to search for the man who had inflicted all this damage in his quest for pleasure when the floorboard behind me creaked slightly. I smiled to myself at the thought of a large, naked man creeping silently around my apartment, and when his hands appeared, one to each side of my face over my shoulders, I was grinning for all I was worth.

In one hand, John held two ends of gold chain, the pearl suspended and swinging in the air as he transferred one of the chains to his free hand and drew them back so he could fasten the clasp behind my neck.

I dipped my head so I could look at the pearl resting on my chest just at the level of the top of my cleavage.

"It's beautiful, John, thank you again," I whispered, raising a hand and moving the pearl around a bit with the end of a finger.

The husky voice and warm breath that teased my ear caused my eyes to close and my lips to part, relaxing every muscle in my body while at the same time tuning all my senses to his frequency as John whispered back, "You're beautiful, Darlene."

You know when you have iron filings and a magnet, like in one of those middle school experiments that all kids do? Well, that was me, the filings, all pointed to John, the magnet – stay with me here – so that when he pressed his hips and abdomen and chest to my back, his hands holding my upper arms as he moved around to make sure every inch of our skins were touching, I could feel all my senses directed backwards. Even my eyes, still closed, seemed to be looking out the back of my head as my brain filled in a picture for me of John's head turning to one side and lowering to my neck so he could gently kiss the rough, red patch he had created earlier.

I reached my arms around behind myself and grabbed onto the backs of John's upper thighs, just at the crease below his buttocks, and pulled him hard to myself. By alternating the pressure on his legs, I conveyed that I wanted him to move around in circles and up and down, sort of the same motion that Polynesian dancers accomplished, only at a much slower and deliberately sensual speed.

Of course, this meant that John's penis was moving around on my back, flaccid and feeling a bit like a rubber snake as it rolled around on my flesh and over my backbone. At one point, he managed to contact my buttocks with his scrotum, and the delicious tickling that produced made me wriggle around to try to make it happen again.

"Whoa, girl," John exclaimed, raising his head behind me. "Give me a bit more time here. Takes a while for everything to re-charge, you know."

I giggled and turned within his arms, raising my hands to either side of his face and said accusingly, "You started it," and kissed his grinning mouth when he lowered his head within range.

We couldn't resist the old "did not/did too" banter between playful kisses, and then John took unfair advantage of me using his stature and strength. The big bully started to tickle.

I felt like a kid again, squirming and jerking around, unable to get away while he wormed his fingers around my ribs and up under my arms. I was laughing with unrestrained abandon and trying as many different contortions as I could manage to try to evade his crafty fingers while screeching out, "Cheater, cheater!" and making some ineffective attempts to tickle him back.

I was suddenly glad I had taken the time to pee earlier so that I didn't have to really try to escape, because, as John was breathing heavily into my ear while still using one arm clasped around my back to hold me in place and wiggling his fingers under my arm in a very sensitive spot, his other hand was heading for that other sensitive spot, and I gasped mightily when his fingers slid between my legs and disappeared partway into my vagina.

Still tickling and allowing no means of escape, John slid his fingers back out again and, since it was me, the John-nympho, they were slick and wet. He smeared this lubricant over my clitoris and then plunged his fingers back into me, placing his thumb on the outside and moving it around and around as his fingers went in and out at the same time.

I'm afraid this was too much for my little brain to handle, since I couldn't decide whether to concentrate on the tickling or the stroking. Whenever I tried to relax into the wonderful sensations that were flooding my body from downstairs, John would deliver another merciless tickle to my ribs and armpit that would divert my attention and make me want to get away from him again. Except I didn't want to get away. Oh, hell.

It got to the point where all I could do was sort of hang off of John's neck and whimper piteously, jerking upright when he tickled and sagging back onto his fingers when he rubbed. And finally, it happened. I just let it all go, and it felt wonderful.

It was a terrific orgasm, don't get me wrong, but that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about giving myself over to John. Looking back now, I have a sneaking suspicion that that's what he was going for, and when the moment arrived, he must have known it too, because he let out a slow, rumbling growl and bit the side of my neck harder and less guardedly than he ever had up to that point, and it all felt so right and so natural – so primal – that as I stopped struggling and then finally stopped moving, my cries of pleasure getting weaker as each nerve pulse became successively less and less, a deep feeling of peace and contentment washed over me. I'm sure John could see it in my eyes when I opened them, turned my head up, and looked into his.

I know what I could see, and it wasn't just my imagination. His eyes were sparking with excitement and sex and, underneath that, a deep tenderness, and when that tenderness swelled as I watched and took over his whole expression before he searched out my mouth to kiss me, I felt as though I had no weight at all; that we were floating in our own bubble of consciousness, unaffected by the world around us.

When John's lips parted from mine, he stood up to his full height and nudged me over to the bed, helping me to crawl in between the covers again. It was my turn this time to snuggle into his chest and feel his arms pulling me to him and it was also my turn to murmur a deep and throaty, "Mmmmmmm," eliciting a slow chuckle in response.

As I lay there in the secure cave created by his chest and arms, I started to do some math. John and I, so far, had a two-night, eight-month relationship that could be over in four or five hours. Would that be enough? I know I would gladly take more if it was offered, but if this really was the last time we would hold each other like this, what was the best way to handle it? How could I draw every last ounce of pleasure and sustenance from him without turning into a whining, needy, pathetic mess? How could this end as well as possible for both of us?

John's voice, somewhat muffled by the pillow, broke into my thoughts. "I'm not, you know," he said, a hint of an introspective smile in his voice, as though he had been mulling something over that amused him.

I struggled a bit in his tight embrace so I could adjust my position and look at the twinkling blue eyes turned down to me. Reaching up one hand to caress his cheek and running the tip of my finger over the deep pit scar in the middle of it, I asked, "You're not what?"

"I'm not here thrill-seeking from the suburbs. I don't have women stashed all over the place. And I didn't come into your bar that night looking for sex. It just happened because it felt right. If it had been someone else – anyone else, probably – this never would have happened."

I could tell that John was being serious, giving it to me straight, as they say, and I could appreciate that and take it on that level, but I felt so good at that moment and so secure with him that I couldn't help joking, and I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.

"So I guess if Mario had been behind the bar that night he wouldn't have had a chance?"

After the words were out, I regretted being flippant and bit my lip as I tensed up and squirmed some more to try to get a better view of John's face and his reaction. I needn't have worried, however, because his sense of humor kicked in immediately as he retorted, "I don't know. What's he look like?"

"Well, for starters, not half as good as you do, but he does have a magnificent handlebar mustache that is just fascinating. He even curls the ends up with wax," was my mischievous comeback.

When I heard the single word, "Tickly," in John's deep and smiling voice from somewhere above my head, I couldn't help but cling to him and sputter with laughter. Well, okay, I think the first loud explosion of noise that came out is usually called a "bark." At least it wasn't a snort.

I was actually getting a little tired out at this point from all the sex and laughter and also the nervous tension that had come and gone through the evening, so I was a bit dismayed but not surprised when I realized a few minutes later that I had nodded off a bit. It didn't help that John's and my body heat combined, along with the covers, made a nice, comfortable cocoon to lull me away to sleepy land.

Well, it wasn't meant to last, apparently. I was jolted awake by my own shriek of surprise when all my senses were alerted at once by an adrenalin alarm of danger. There was something mighty strange going on, so strange that my fuzzy brain couldn't identify it at first. It was cold. And wet-ish. And slippery. And warm. And stimulating. And very, very nice.

While I had been dozing, my sweet, kind, gentle lover had dabbed freezing cold whipped cream onto my breasts, liberally covering the nipples, and was now proceeding to lick it off, slowly and carefully, making sure to drag his tongue and flick it at the end of each lick to cause several thousand nerve explosions in my brain with each pass.

He was just finishing up the first side, holding me tightly in place as I yelled both in protest and encouragement, and was moving over to take care of the other side when I managed to choke out, "You weren't supposed to look! Oh, my God, Joh' – oh, yes, no, oh – stop – no, more – you bad, bad man!"

So that's where he had gone when I went for my pee. I guess I should have gotten a lock put on the fridge. Seemed my man couldn't be trusted not to snoop. My thoughts zeroed in momentarily on the drawer in my bedside table, but I quickly put that thought away. Knowing my luck, he could probably read minds as well. Might be better if John didn't meet up with his poor, pathetic plastic substitute just yet.

Where were we? Oh, yes, cold, sticky, warm, licky fun.

My turn.

Let's see, where should I start? I guess I could have gone for the obvious target, his mesmerizing man lollypop that had been giving me so much pleasure for the last few hours, but instead, I decided to go for somewhere a little more subtle.

I pulled the covers away from both of us so that I could partially sit and reached over to where John had placed the container of whipped cream on top of the bedside table. He must have hidden it under the bed, because I didn't remember seeing it there earlier. I scooped out a few dollops on my fingers.

When I got back into position, I looked at John's face, and I could see that he was wondering what I was going to do. He must have jumped to the obvious conclusion as well, because he jerked his hips a little to avoid the coldness of a penile assault. Even though it looked as though I was heading in that direction, I stopped short and smeared the whipped cream into his cute little innie navel. Smiling a bit at the yelp he couldn't hold back when the cold hit his skin, I checked first to make sure he was watching before I extended my tongue and began to lap up the white creaminess, carefully outlining his belly button and stopping occasionally to admire the funny little swirls that the motion created in the hair on his tummy.

As the whipped cream began to disappear, my lips went lower and lower. By this time, John didn't seem to be trying to avoid contact. In fact, when I checked again, his eyes were closed and his face was in repose as he savored the touch of my probing tongue. Now was the time to pounce.

I quickly scooped up a liberal handful of the whipped cream and applied it to his penis with long strokes. Earlier, he had begun to enlarge and lengthen but now, oddly enough, he started to quickly shrink. John's accompanying howl of surprise was about three times as loud as the first one had been, but it wasn't long before he was moaning with pleasure as I methodically scraped the whipped cream from him with my tongue and lips.

Working from the bottom up, each time I cleaned a swath along his re-hardening length, I paused when I reached the top to slip my soft, wet lips over the head and roll my tongue around the top. I made sure not to do this for too long each time, just to give John a bit of a tease, but I was quick enough in licking up the whipped cream that he didn't have to wait too long before another warm, wet suck, and he quickly learned the rhythm that I set up, so that by the time I had half of him cleaned off, he was anticipating the upcoming wave of sensation and moved his hips up and back, searching for my mouth.

I think the sweetest thing was when he began some drawn-out moans, low and throaty, and he even whimpered a bit, letting me know that he was really enjoying himself. I was elated to be able to give him so much pleasure and more than a little proud of myself for the job I was doing. It was such good feedback, it made me want to try even harder. And so I thought what better way to give him what he wanted than to ask him what he wanted?

"John," I said, "John, baby, tell me what I should do for you."

I wasn't sure at first that I was going to get an answer, because he seemed a little put out that I had stopped what I had been doing but, speaking quietly at first and then a little louder as he recovered his voice, he said, "Darlene, please lick my balls."

Always the gentleman. Amazing.

I pondered for a moment whether I should start with whipped cream and decided that was just asking for a mood-killer, so I shifted around with my head still directed towards John's feet and began to do as he had asked.

I started on the upper surface, first one side, then the other, laving the wrinkly skin of his scrotum with the broad, flat surface of my tongue. When he was good and wet, I carefully took one testicle into my mouth and held it there, making sure that I wasn't putting any pressure on anything before beginning to wiggle my tongue slightly to cause a back-and-forth motion.

Now John's moans were getting very loud, and I could tell that it was taking some effort on his part to remain still as I released the first testicle and drew the other into my mouth to perform the same stimulating motion on that side. When I thought he had had enough, I let that one go too and moved backwards towards John's now-hard cock to take up where I had left off.

Suddenly, a large hand on each of my hips, I was lifted into the air by those strong arms and positioned with one knee above each of John's shoulders so I was forced to line my body up with his. It was immediately apparent what he was going for, not the least because he already had his face buried in me, but because his full erection was waving around right under my nose.

Now having to worry about whether my moans were too loud, I took him back into my mouth and slid my lips down his shaft until I could take no more of him. It was kind of interesting to observe that John's stimulation of me only made me want to give him more, and I rested on one hand while I put the other one into play and alternated between running my grip up and down the bottom part of his penis in a slow rhythm, over his testicles, and onto the hypersensitive root, where I rubbed in lazy circles before coming back again to repeat the process, all the while moving my mouth up and down the top part.

By the time I noticed that John had stopped licking me, I was already being hoisted into the air again, flipped onto my back and, quick as a wink, John had reversed his position and moved so he was hovering over top of me. He was now seeking entry to my well-prepared vagina by poking impatiently. I don't know if he had a heat seeking device in there somewhere, but it only took three or four quick jabs before he hit the target and let his body gradually fall closer and closer into my open arms.

It didn't occur to me until later, but any other guys I had been with would have been more than happy to just let me suck them off, usually without doing me at the same time, but not John. He wanted to be inside me, and that's just where I wanted him to be, and as he entered me, trying not to go too fast so that we could both feel every excruciatingly delicious moment of our renewed coupling, I held my breath and looked into the deep blue eyes that were focusing on mine, full of tenderness again but this time also with hints of wonder and joy.


	6. Lady Day

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

* * *

Chapter 6 – Lady Day

When it started out, I figured this was going to be another wild ride, what with all the build-up and the whipped cream and so on, but John wasn't done surprising me yet. And if all his surprises turned out to be half as delightful, well, I was more than happy to give the unanticipated a chance.

John had already pushed himself all the way into me and had even given two or three healthy thrusts that threatened to tip me over the edge of the bed. He was hugging his body to mine, hunched over a bit so he could rest his forehead beside my head, and he had worked his forearms underneath my upper arms and hooked his fingers back over my shoulders to hold me in place, which is why I didn't actually end up with my head dangling in space.

All of a sudden, he stopped all motion and let out an anguished groan, sounding like he was in pain of some sort. When I raised my head up a bit, resting a hand on the back of his head and asking with some alarm, "John, honey, what's wrong?" he turned his face up from the surface of the bed and replied, a little breathily, "I don't want to come yet but, Darlene, you're driving me crazy."

It was impossible for me to keep the smug look off of my face. This was no teenager I had here, ready to pop if a girl so much as looked at him. This was a very experienced man who probably had to beat females off with a stick. And he was having trouble holding back with me. Tra-la!

But then, feeling a bit sorry for him in his predicament, I petted his head and made sure not to move my hips as I looked into his troubled eyes and began soothing him in a quiet, singsong voice, "Shhh, shhh, there, there, lots of time, big man."

I don't think this helped too much, judging by the next groan that started deep in his chest and went a little high-pitched at the end. But he did manage to keep it together as he adjusted our positions again to something that wouldn't be as stimulating and might allow him to draw out what would probably be our last opportunity for full-on sex for this little visit.

First, he brought his arms out from under mine and, still fully inside of me, turned us over onto our sides, one hand on my left haunch drawing me towards him and the other pushing my right shoulder back underneath me. It was a bit tricky but, with a coordinated effort, we got to where he wanted to go. Then he ran his hand down the back of my thigh and once again hitched my leg upwards over his hip. And finally, both hands under my armpits, he pulled me off his cock a little bit so our heads were level and I was looking into his bluer-than-blue eyes once more.

Heaven on a stick. Okay, that didn't come out quite right, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, once John had us rearranged, he tried a tentative slide back in and, I'll hand it to him, he hadn't lost any of the hardness of his erection during all of these maneuverings. And no Viagra, either!

But even my sense of humor was now no match for John's lovemaking, and I relaxed into if not a serious state then at least not a joking one when we had settled once more. The only movement as he gazed at my face and into my eyes was from our hips – mostly his – slowly undulating back and forth. I just made sure to push my pelvis a bit closer to his abdomen so I could open up wider for him, which resulted in an even smoother, slipperier, and almost painfully stimulating in-and-out action.

In and out. Pause. In and out. Pause. Small kiss. In and – and pause. Kiss with a bit of tongue. And out, a little faster this time. Oops, remember to make it last. Very slowly in and e-v-e-n – s-l-o-w-e-r – o-u-t. Innnn. Outttt. Innnnnnnn. Outttttttt. Ohhhhhhhhhh...

I don't know whether this slowing things down was helping John, but it definitely wasn't doing anything for my control, especially not with the warm, wet, slurpy kisses and nibbles that went along with each assault on nerves that were firing hotter and hotter with every second.

And then, stupid me, I could feel tears leaking out of the corners of my closed eyes as I kissed John and stroked his head and neck languorously. He hadn't noticed or at least said anything about it yet, so I suppose his eyes were closed as well, so this gave me a moment to think it through.

Was I sad? Definitely. But it was kind of a bittersweet sadness. John was going to leave soon, but the trade-off was that, while he was here, I got to spend time with the best lover I had ever had, a man who seemed to genuinely care about me and was interested in our mutual pleasure. Part of it was because of the sex we were having right at that moment, the slow, sensual deliberateness of it, his kisses and the look on his face that said he could barely handle it either. The rest was just joy. When any negative aspects were ignored, what was left over was happiness and fulfillment and joy, plain and simple.

It was this last emotion I decided to go with, the one that would let me – let us – gain the most from our brief interlude together, and by the time John did notice my tears, I was able to show him a face that radiated warmth and comfort and contentment, even excitement and approval, and I could see from the way he reacted that this really was the best way to go, the way that would encourage him to come back to me again or, if he was never able to, that would allow me to survive his absence without self-destructing.

However, my reaction blew all to hell John's plans to make it last longer.

We were smiling like idiots again and John began to kiss my face over and over as he sped up until he was thrusting jerkily and hard in time with his panting breaths. He would stop kissing every once in a while to check my expression and when he got the "Good Man" vibe each time, renewed his efforts until I couldn't breathe properly anymore. Both gasping and smiling, I gave out a loud moan and several whimpering, keening cries as I twitched around, finally out of control, and John grunted deeply and began to come shortly afterwards, no doubt put over the edge by my movements and the noises I was making, and when I clung to him helplessly as he experienced a last few fitful spasms, I really did start to cry. But this time, they were truly tears of pure joy.

* * *

Sticky and satisfied, we cuddled and nuzzled like two chubby puppies, both reluctant to break the spell. John's rumbling laugh when I accidentally got my face caught in his armpit and couldn't help grimacing and exclaiming at the stinky, sweaty man smell caused a rush of affection to race through my limbs, and I squished him tightly between my arms and my legs like a four-limbed octopus until he protested that I was going to squeeze the breath out of him. Hardly. And when he hugged me back, growling and roaring like a frisky lion while play-chomping on my neck and rocking us back and forth, I laughed and gasped so hard I really was afraid I was going to stop breathing.

By the time we finished horsing around, John was lying on his back and I was on top of him, face-to-face, my head on his shoulder with my hands tucked up underneath my chin, my knees bent and my thighs draped on either side over his hip bones. I ran the toes of one foot idly up and down the outside of his left calf, then suddenly lifted up a bit, bent, and reached back and down with my right hand, remembering something that I had seen earlier. I searched with my fingers on his left thigh until I found it and traced the new scar there, a small circular one, before turning my head back to look at John's face.

"Bullet," he said solemnly. He was gazing at the ceiling, apparently a million miles away, but his hands, previously crossed over my back to hold me in place on top of him, had slid – I'm sure entirely by accident – to cover my breasts as soon as they had come into view again.

I smiled a bit at his innocent expression, then became serious again, still letting him have his feel.

"Anything else?" I asked, at the same time dreading the answer.

"Tooth extraction," he supplied, quickly adding, "but that was friendly."

I struggled to straighten up and turn completely back around so I could get a clearer look at his face.

"'Friendly?'" I exclaimed, alarmed now. "How on earth is that friendly?" I put a hand on either side of his jaw and tried to get him to open up and show me. He stubbornly kept his mouth closed in a thin line and only opened up when I began to kiss and lick him to coax his lips to open.

Yep, there it was, a gap near the back, and the gum was still an angry red and looked quite tender.

"That's some job you've got there," I commented, letting him close his mouth again and putting my hands on either side of his chest on the bed to hold myself up. I don't know how he had done it, but the man still had a firm hold on my breasts, and, frankly, it felt kind of nice.

I thought for a moment that he was going to launch into a serious response to my rhetorical observation about his job, but after a second or so, by the set of his mouth and the wary look in his eyes, it was almost immediately apparent that he had squelched the impulse and left me to wonder what he had been about to say.

"What about you?" John asked in an effort to fill the suddenly awkward silence between us. "Any battle wounds?"

He shifted his hips as he asked this, unceremoniously dumping me to one side and flipping over so he now held the dominant position, and began a close inspection of – guess what? – my breasts. I had no idea what kind of injuries he thought he might find there. Excessive handling, maybe.

"Ooh, ooh, I remember, a bad glass cut!" I announced excitedly, trying to get John to look at my left hand by poking it into his field of vision and indicating a small indentation with the fingers of my other hand.

I'll give him credit, he did eventually peel his eyes away from his main interest and his hands too as he grasped my left hand in his large but gentle ones and peered carefully at the location I had indicated.

"That looks bad," he commented, moving his head a bit and dragging my hand into a beam of sunlight that had found its way between the curtains so he could locate the tiny slice that had already healed quite nicely. "Might need an amputation."

I snatched my hand away from his and pretended to be put out. "Meanie," I declared, pouting as I said it. "It hurt like hell at the time and I kept getting lemon and lime juice in it afterwards."

"Oh, well, in that case..." John said laughingly before plunging his head towards the side of my neck. "Let me kiss it better."

I squealed and laughed as he began to nibble and suck on an earlobe, sputtering out, "Wait, that's not where it hurts!"

"Oh, isn't it?" he said, stopping mid-lick and raising his head. "How about here?"

John had me pinned down, helpless to protect myself, as he proceeded to test various spots on my body, asking after each kiss, nibble or lick whether that was the place it hurt. By the time he had exhausted his game, nothing hurt except for maybe my facial muscles from all the laughing and smiling. And his kisses had also made me feel all sinuous and sexy and curvy and girly again. I was just beginning to look forward to another round when it hit me. It was getting quite late. Maybe if we were quick about it? I knew we were out of time, though, when John suddenly stopped his teasing and reached over to the bedside table to pick up his watch to check it and his face quickly became serious.

"Almost time to go," he said once he had put the watch back on the bedside table and turned again towards me.

And like anyone who takes their obligations seriously, John kissed my mouth quickly and rolled away so he could get up off of the bed and go into the bathroom, leaving me lying there feeling a bit abandoned, and I watched the bathroom door, the back of one hand covering my still-tingling lips as I let all my insecurities and fears show on my face while he was safely shut away in the other room and couldn't see them.

* * *

When John was finished using the toilet, he opened the door of the bathroom and invited me to join him in the shower. I had managed to get back to my happy place by this time and got up from the bed, stepping into the shower with him and luxuriating in the feel of hot water, soap, and slippery male skin as I washed him down and then let him do the same for me.

Drying off and toweling my hair as best I could, I pulled on some clean clothes, finishing just as John had dressed and was strapping on his watch and slinging his shoulder holster over his back, and as we left the bedroom, he stopped and turned to me.

"Darlene, I wonder if we could talk a bit before I go," John said, his expression unreadable.

A sense of foreboding popped in my stomach, but I did my best to dampen it down, replying with a cheerful, "Sure."

I grabbed John's hand and led him into the kitchen, offering to make us a cup of coffee in the hopes that I could spin the remainder of his stay out as long as possible. He accepted, and as I put water on to boil and measured grounds into a coffee press, he sat at the kitchen table, sunshine spilling in onto one side of his face, the other side in shadow.

It only took ten minutes or so to brew the coffee, and we passed the time in silence. I could see that John was still working out what he wanted to say, and though I was curious, I didn't want to rush him. Whatever it was, it was obviously important, so I could wait.

When we each had a cup of coffee in front of us – his black, mine with cream – John began to speak.

"What I'm about to tell you is between us. I don't know whether there would be any problem if it got out, but I don't like to take chances."

I nodded when he paused, and when he saw I was prepared to listen without interrupting, he smiled slightly and continued.

"Darlene, I don't live in LA," he said abruptly. "I'm only here on a temporary assignment. I obviously can't tell you any details, but there's a good possibility I may be sent somewhere else soon. I just wanted to let you know."

He stopped speaking and took a sip of coffee, apparently assuming that I would be able to figure out what effect this information would have on me. When I continued to look at him attentively, he decided to elaborate.

"What I'm trying to say is I really may be gone for good this time. And if I do go, I won't have the chance to let you know or to say goodbye."

I reached out a hand and he curled his fingers around mine so we were holding hands in the air over the table, much like we had in the early morning hours at the diner.

"And, of course," he added, "I won't be able to tell you where they send me or contact you when I get there."

I finally found my tongue to respond.

"Thank you for telling me, John," I said, giving him a sad smile. "I think if you had just disappeared without saying anything, it would have been much harder."

He pulled my hand towards his mouth, and I could feel the heat left on his lips by the coffee as he kissed the back of my hand before letting it go. He stood as he drained the last of his coffee, setting the mug down and coming around the table to stand by my chair. He reached down and grasped my upper arms, pulling upwards so I would stand, and enfolded me in his arms, rocking a bit from side to side as he rubbed his cheek on the top of my head.

I managed to untangle my arms from in front of me and announced, "I'm going to squish you now," before doing just that – putting my arms around his waist and squeezing as hard as I could, my face pressed up against his chest, my eyes closed tightly as I tried to breathe through a rapidly constricting throat.

When I began to loosen my grip, John pulled away a bit so he could lean his head down towards mine, and he paused in that way he had that I loved so much to look into my eyes, giving me a chance to look into his, which were mirroring the wistful sadness that I felt, and dropped his head to kiss me.

As his lips touched mine, my eyes fluttered closed, and the combination of body heat, coffee taste and tenderness that he conveyed to me through that one kiss summed up for me his true feelings, and I knew once again that, although he was leaving me, he was leaving me stronger and that I too had helped him in my small way along the lonely path he was traveling.

I guess John somehow just knew that I didn't want to watch him leave, and when he let me go, I stood in the kitchen with my eyes closed listening to his quiet footfalls across the living room, the hallway closet door opening and closing, and then finally the apartment door as he pulled it shut behind him, and when I opened my eyes, I turned my face towards the sunshine and smiled a secret smile as it warmed my skin.

* * *

It was happening all over again. I tried to stop it, but the more I tried to make it stop, the more quickly he seemed to appear in my mind, as though he was right before me. Standing. Sitting. Clothed. Naked. The covers draped partway over his hips exposing a muscular and tempting thigh. Smiling at me from across the table, the end of his fork carrying slices of pancake dripping syrup to his mouth. His mouth. His hands.

His eyes.

Sometimes I just had to stop whatever I was doing and lean on something, shake my head to clear it, and get my thoughts straight again. I couldn't fall into the old patterns. Not again. Not so soon. He could be gone for months, like the last time. He could even be gone already, this time for good. I had to learn to make it through a day without wanting him quite so much, without letting thoughts of him take up my whole existence. It wasn't right. And it wasn't fair.

If only I could see him a little more frequently or even know whether I would be seeing him ever again, then maybe I wouldn't build this into an obsession. I'd heard of the expression "Familiarity breeds contempt," but in my case, I figured it should be "Familiarity breeds contentment." If I had him a little more often, maybe I wouldn't want him quite so much.

Yeah, right.

I was getting pretty good at rationalizing this whole thing, since I had a feeling deep down inside my gut that I would never be through wanting him and I would never get enough of him.

I was pretty proud of myself about two weeks later, actually, when I could go a whole hour at a time without being reminded of something John had done or said or what he had looked like at a particular moment. I was gunning for an hour and a half in a row next. Sort of a one-step-at-a-time program. Detox for the heart.

Come to think of it, it was exactly two weeks since the last time I had seen him, almost to the hour. Closing time. I was just hanging some wine glasses back on the rack when I heard my cell phone ring. I almost didn't answer it since I was so close to going home and didn't feel like talking to an automated telemarketing machine.

I scrabbled under the bar for my purse and flipped open the cell phone pocket. Pulling the unit out too quickly, I almost dropped the stupid thing before snapping it open and looking at the display. "Private Caller." Great.

I honestly don't know what made me push the call activate button. Maybe it was a sixth sense. Maybe it was the angel on my shoulder, the one that some people say everybody has, whispering to me. Maybe it was just dumb luck. The good kind.

I raised the phone to my ear and said crisply, "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was warm and tender, deep and a bit gravelly.

"Hello, Darlene? It's John."


End file.
